


Lock all the doors

by hikarufly



Series: After Twelve Stories [8]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Subtext
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 16:16:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5877361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikarufly/pseuds/hikarufly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post series 9: Clara must face the Raven now, but her TARDIS lands once again in the american desert. A mysterious guitarist, then, shows up in that overnight appeared diner... English is not my first language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lock all the doors

Somewhere in the middle of the Nevada desert, a new diner was opened. To be fair, it was not really “opened”: it appeared overnight, or so they said.

It was located on the big road, but not too far from a small town with a population of just a few thousands. Many needed employment, especially at that time, at least to be able to put away something to afford leaving the place or pay for the school to get qualifications. Many passed, but very few stayed, even for one night. That diner was there to help, and it did.

The young girl who worked at the diner said she didn't really own it: she just borrowed it for a while. She had to give it back, and soon now. She had kept it for too long. The other girl that used to work there had left long ago, at last. She was glad, in the end, to be alone. It was time to go. Just one last trip... Nobody understood what kind of trip it was. How could a diner move? Some said she told them the diner had got her there, even if she meant to go somewhere else, to “face the raven”. People found her odd but funny. She was sweet looking, with those big dark eyes and round face.

She employed a cook first: a nice chap. He was very good and she told him he was to become one of the best  _chefs_ in the world. He didn't believe her but enjoyed working there a lot, for he could experiment and he fancied her. Everybody did, in fact. Her English accent was somehow exotic. After a while, some girls decided to make some money as waitresses, and were taken in. The English girl never told them her name, even though she became part of the community, when people stared coming and eating. Everybody simply called her “boss”.

A stage was set in a corner, so that musicians could rehears during closing time or play on weekends and special evenings. Those gigs became concerts and big events in the small town.

One day, one very special day, in the late afternoon, a man entered the diner. It was closed still, in the middle of the afternoon, but the door was always open. He was maybe in his late 50s, grey hair and bushy beard. He was wearing a suit, very simple and not too elegant, and a weary yet nice t-shirt underneath. His boots made no sound on the floor. The boss was checking some orders and raised her gaze. She barely managed not to drop her papers. He took off his sunglasses, and a pair of blue eyes and fierce eyebrows made their appearance. The man had a guitar hung at his shoulder, a vintage Yamaha. The boss raised her head when she heard the doorbell at the opening, and almost fell from her seat. It couldn't be.

« Is it open? » he asked, definitely less confused but equally puzzled as the last time she saw him.

«N-not yet, no.» she replied, blushing. God, it had been so long since she blushed that way. He frowned.

«Do I know you ? » he asked.

« Last and only time we saw each other you didn't have a beard » she replied, regaining her self control. He paused and smiled.

« Yes, the diner. I was here with Amy and Rory, once... now is on the right side of the hill. » he replied. They exchanged a smile.

« Found your TARDIS then? » she said.

« Yes I did. And... » he said « I had to hide it for a while. I need a place to stay for tonight, tomorrow I'll get it back. »

He sat at the counter: he had no shirt under the jacket so his wrists were naked and exposed. His right one had a wristband, like those the tennis players wear.

«Can you still play ? » she asked. « I have a little band tonight playing here and they miss a guitarist, of all things. I only have a little apartment upstairs, with one room, and that's mine. »

He didn't answer, but put his glasses on the counter too, pressed the centre and linked the guitar to the radio, as he did so much time before that moment. He caressed the strings of the guitar, playing a few chords. She recognized it. A sad, beautiful song she only head once. He stopped and sighed, as he failed to remember how it was going on, the song, and passed his fingers in his hair.

« Mind you, I can give you that room. I have a very comfy couch too. » she added, and he smiled, his gaze low in embarrassment. Her eyes watered but she then cleared her throat.

« The band will be here in a few minutes, I expect. I need to check with the  _chef_ ... Think about it, at your age you need a proper bed for the night. » she said then, getting down her seat and disappearing in the kitchen.

« Actually, I don't really sleep. I only take catnaps, mostly. » he said, while she walked away but couldn't see her face, he replied too late. The band arrived a few moments later, ready to rehears for the night. 

She didn't have to talk to the chef though. She needed to breath. She brought a hand to her chest: no heartbeat. Time hadn't healed. She felt tears getting to her eyes and running down her cheeks, but she brushed them away with an irritated gesture. He was there. He didn't remember her. There was no danger... Maybe this is why she was there, to see him one last time, to say goodbye... but he had not to know. He mustn't. He said to her that the pain of losing her would always be there, no matter how long or far he would run. And she knew that if he discovered she was there, and remembered her, he would not give her up to the Raven, even if it was time now. She felt old, weary, more ready than she was before. She had travelled with Ashildr, not too long, but long enough. That stolen TARDIS disguised as a diner had grown fond of her, and apparently felt she deserved one last night with him.

 

_He wore a star-shaped tambourine_

_The handsomest man I had ever seen_

_Was standing lost and lonely on the shore_

 

_I try to catch him every night_

_Sitting on his own in the candlelight_

_But I can't seem to reach him anymore_

 

_Lock all the doors!_

_Maybe they'll never find us_

_I can be sure, like never before, this time_

_Get down on the floor!_

_Turn all the lights off inside_

_I can be sure, like never before, this time_

_You know it's mine_

_You know it's mine_

 

_He never hears me when I speak_

_I gotta find out where the magic sleeps_

_And I can feel you underneath my skin_

 

_And if we take our love inside_

_Cause I don't wanna sail on the ocean wide_

_Cause we might never live to meet again_

 

_Lock all the doors!_

_Maybe they'll never find us_

_I can be sure, like never before, this time_

_Get down on the floor!_

_Turn all the lights off inside_

_I can be sure, like never before, this time_

_You know it's mine_

_You know it's mine_

 

_Lock all the doors!_

_Maybe they'll never find us_

_I can be sure, like never before, this time_

_Get down on the floor!_

_Turn all the lights off inside_

_I can be sure, like never before, this time_

_You know it's mine_

_You know it's mine_

_You know it's mine_

 

The staff was working hard that night, the diner was full. The band was great, and the lead singer, a very handsome girl with caramel-coloured skin, was the main attraction for many. The staff had noticed the boss was strange that night, stranger than usual at least. The lead guitarist seemed out of place, but he was playing extremely well. One of the waiters found the boss staring at that grey bearded man, with a longing and fascination only seen in star crossed lovers.

Then, the band finished the gig with a cover of Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds, the lyrics specially adapted by one of them, nobody really could tell who. They thanked the audience and went to have a bite in a corner, but the guitarist parted from them and sat on the counter. The boss was in front of him in no time.

«So, did you enjoy yourself?» she asked, a little notebook and a pen for orders in her hands.

«I believe I did, yeah. But... there is only one song I really love to play.» he replied, and she tried not to blush. Thank God her heart was not beating.

«What do you eat? You must be starving» she said, smiling, ready to write.

«I haven't thought about it, I'm not sure I'm hungry either...» he started to say, thinking about it. Or maybe he was recollecting something, or trying to.

«You'll have what I'm having then.» she decided, and he smiled, giving her the familiar, lovely yet difficult shivers of very long ago, when he had not forgotten her.

He waited for her to return with a couple of french toasts, and two big milkshakes. They ate and drank without a word, and oblivious of everyone else. The staff was a bit stranded, and the singer seemed jealous of the attentions that the guitarist seemed to give to the boss, but closing time arrived without problems. The guitarist stayed there, and was not extremely helping, but he kept out of the way, mostly brooding on something, as trying to catch his flying thoughts. The most urgent cleaning and tidying was done immediately, and the boss postponed everything else to the next day. She thanked the band, and paid them a fee, and the rest of the staff left, too tired but happy to protest.

«Just you and me, then.» she said, with a sort of naughty smile. He smiled awkwardly back.

«I can take the couch. If you want, I could actually stay here and not invade your apartment. I am a stranger, after all. You don't know me.»

Her smile became sad, and he thought, suddenly, of the Orient Express in space. He tried to catch a memory but it slipped away. Clara, always Clara.

She lowered the lights, but did not switched them off completely. The desert showed them the stars, dotting the stars as small lights or glitters on a dark piece of paper.

«Come with me.» she said then, after closing the door with a very ordinary key.

He followed her upstairs, in a small apartment: a little kitchen with a table, a living room with a big, comfy sofa and an armchair you could sunk into, a bathroom and a bedroom.

«Would you like to freshen up?» she asked. «I may have something of your size.»

«Boyfriend?» he supposed.

«Not really. But he left some stuff when I kicked him out. It can be useful.» she replied. She wasn't really lying. Not entirely. She helped him with the guitar, taking it with almost religious respect. She left them on the couch and gave him a towel, a t-shirt, a pair of jeans and showed him were socks and boxers were, if he needed them. He took everything and looked at her for a few moments, waiting for her to leave him alone. When the impasse was becoming really awkward, he got into the bathroom and she looked at the shut door as she was afraid not to see him re-emerge.

Back in the living room, she picked up the guitar and putting it on herself thanks to the shoulder strap, as to let it (or he) hug her. She smelled his cologne on that strap, and had no idea how to play it but caressed the strings and closed her eyes, remembering him a few hours back, feeling closer to him even if it was just a recent memory.

He got back to the living room, with dump hair and his jacket on his white, naked arms. He looked puzzled, and she felt caught in the act. She took the strap to get the guitar back on the sofa, but he stopped her with a small gesture. He got behind her and took her hands to position them on the guitar, positioning one on the fingerboard an the other on the strings. Without a word, he taught her a chord: her fingers pressing the right strings and a hand to caress them and make a sound. She felt like stop breathing, even if she wasn't really doing it in the first place, being frozen in time.

«Doctor...» she whispered, her lips trembling.

He heard her but didn't listen. He took the sunglasses off the pocket of his jeans and used it to plug the guitar to every small or big sound diffusing system in the room. He made her play his and her sad song.

«I had a friend, once. She was feisty, full of energy, fierce and stubborn. She was exceptional, she was kind, she was... unique. She called me “alien thing”, she made me save an entire family from Pompeii. Donna Noble, she was called. Red hair, thin face. To save her, I made her forget me. I cancelled all mentions of me from her head, our adventures together, her wonderful journey and achievements. It broke my heart, but I couldn't be the one to forget. I simply couldn't, and they say that ignorance is bliss. Clara had to forget me, too. I had it all worked out, you know. I told you, last time. And you see, now I know ignorance is bliss, because every time I try and remember her it hurts a little bit more. And yet, oblivion made it just a bland nostalgia. I wonder where she is, or, what she does now...»

The girl inside his arms shed only one tear.

«But you see, I may have forgotten, but I can recognized a TARDIS when I see one. And I must say you definitely not have two hearts, so you're not a Time Lord or Lady, even if we are inside the chameleon circuit of a Gallifreyan time machine. You have no pulse or breath. You are frozen in time, and it hasn't healed even if you've been travelling for a while.»

Even if her heart was not beating, Clara felt it all the same.

«I have to get back. I have to face the raven. I have to do it.» she whispered.

«I know, there is no other way... and even if now I know you're my Clara, I still can't get my memories back. I am sure if I step out of here, I won't remember you. I can't save you, again.» he sighed.

«Do you remember what I said in the cloisters?» she asked.

«No... but I played this song for a long time now, and I think I do know, even if I don't remember.» he explained, finishing the song but still holding her close from behind.

«Can I give you one last, only memory?» Clara said, turning only her head to meet his gaze.

«Yes.» he replied.

She turned into that embrace and gave him the guitar, putting the strap on his shoulder. She smiled and caressed his cheek.

«Lock all the doors.»

 

**Author's Note:**

> The song, slightly modified, is by Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds, as you can read :)


End file.
